i want to burn (with) you
by missgine
Summary: they say fighting keeps a marriage healthy. [mr and mrs smith!au, mikorei, some violence, part one of fire meet gasoline series]


(A/N): Smut is posted on AO3.

..

Mikoto had heard from his mother that fighting kept a marriage up and running, but he didn't think she meant this type of fighting- the type of fight where one ended up dead.

There's the red haze of anger clouding Mikoto's glare and gaze as he speeds down the street to his and Reisi's house and swerves down his driveway with a few frustrated turns of the steering wheel. He doesn't know why he's mad-and usually he knows what's pissed him off enough to want to kill-but tonight, he doesn't know. Doesn't know if it's from the way his heart stuttered in his chest when he observed Reisi at their table from the sidelines before he went up to him, noticing the tear glinting on his cheek. Doesn't know if it's from the dance, from the tango that held more passion and truth in the less than three minutes than their entire five years of marriage. Or maybe the cloud of anger is from the grand exit, complete with a dramatic walk-away and explosion.

If Mikoto is being honest with himself-because in this business the only one you can trust is yourself-half of the anger is his fault. He's the one who fell way too hard, way too fast for the pretty "paralegal" whose bite was just as bad as his bark. Shit, he thinks his anger is justified though, considering there's a bounty over his head and the assassin assigned to take him out is none other than the man who's had half of his bed and his heart for the past five years.

He turns into their driveway at the same time Reisi does, their bumpers colliding violently loud. Before he can react, Reisi backs up and slams right back into Mikoto's car, moving it back before Reisi is speeding past him towards the house.

Mikoto growls and gets out of the car, stealthily making his way inside the house, going up to the office and opens the secret compartment behind the posters Reisi hates, taking out the guns, loads the ammunition, screwing on the mufflers and puts the extra magazines in his pants pocket all while walking calmly to the door threshold.

He stops against the wall of the hallway, poises his gun and checks his surroundings, gun stretched in front of his as he makes his way through the hall, cursing when he bumps into one of Reisi's ornamental vases, unable to catch it quickly enough that it shatter loudly upon impact with the floor.

Mikoto wastes no time running and not two seconds later bullets are raining to where he was prior. He continues walking calmly as shots pierce through the wall that likely separates him and Reisi. He turns to shoot a few rounds of his own when he finds a decent vantage point, spotting Reisi still in his silk suit, looking pristine as always even with a rifle in each hand, both aimed towards Mikoto.

"Shit," he curses just as bullets rain overhead.

Windows are smashed, walls are left demolished in their wake. There's shards of glass and ceramic and wood raining around them, the plaster of the walls and hardwood floors flying through the air as bullets fly like confetti. Somewhere in the chaos, Reisi manages to lose his glasses, frames flying off his face after a hit from Mikoto.

When Reisi runs out of ammo, he turns to his knives, a few soaring past Mikoto and missing him by centimeters. He knows that if it weren't for his reflexes, those would have been nicely embedded in his skull-Reisi is nothing if precise.

Mikoto aims him own automatic at Reisi, watching with blazing amber eyes as the other lunges away from the torrent of bullets ripping into the dining room, watches Reisi roll from getting smashed by the china cabinet Mikoto's always hated.

Reisi lets out an annoyed sigh and Mikoto can't help but feel pissed when he sees Reisi strip off his jacket, clicking his tongue at the rips in his sleeves and the one down his back. He should be paying attention to him, not his jacket; Mikoto shoots at him some more.

"Augh! You barbarian! I _knew_ I should have thrown things at you when I was angry!"

"Yeah? Would they have been lies as well?!"

Reisi kicks the rifle from Mikoto's hands and Mikoto charges, tackling him to the ground. Reisi take a second before he punches Mikoto in the face, his right hook catching on his jaw enough that it fucking stings and Mikoto even hears his knuckles pop through the wave of pain. "Look who's talking," Reisi hisses, bucking up so hard Mikoto falls off of him and he knees the redhead in the gut. "Fuck," Mikoto wheezes, jerking out of the way of Reisi's kick.

People have said their fights were explosive, but nothing could have compared to this, this beautifully brutal dance. And it is dancing, Mikoto thinks, it's exactly like in the restaurant, they're completely in sync, one landing a blow and the other following close behind; Mikoto doesn't know how many times he switches from offensive to defensive and back again. When Mikoto decides to use his brute strength and power, Reisi makes up for it with his speed and agility, matching Mikoto's hits with ones of his own.

They're at a standstill, too evenly matched, and they know it, breathing hard as they circle each other.

Simultaneously, their gazes are drawn to the loaded gun discarded on the floor and the decorative swords both on the other side of the couch. There's a beat of silent tension before they're springing into action, vision blurred until the both of them are upright again.

Reisi has an unsheathed sword in his hands, the metal glinting just as coldly as it feels against Mikoto's jugular. Mikoto has a gun, fingers poised on the trigger and it's aimed straight at Reisi, the man staring straight down the barrel. They're both breathing hard as they stare at their weapons and at each other.

Reisi watches the bruise along Mikoto's jaw start to bloom a cold blue just as Mikoto watches a trail of blood slick hot down Reisi's temple-fuck. Fuck, Mikoto curses internally, even now, he's still so beautiful. Reisi's eyes are glinting the lightning purple Mikoto loves so much, bright and alive, framed by his long lashes that flutter so delicately despite everything. His lips are red and open, panting just as hard as Mikoto. That same mouth has kissed Mikoto good morning and good night for five years, has torn him down and built him back up, has pouted and sneered and smiled just for him and as Mikoto exhales, he doesn't know what he's doing. Seriously doesn't know why he's pointing a gun at the most exquisite person he'll ever meet.

He sees the furrow between Reisi's brows-a telltale he's more than frustrated-and Mikoto knows.

"I can't do it," Mikoto says, the gentleness of his voice belying the roughness of his previous actions. His grip on his gun goes slack and he brings his hand down to his side, dropping the gun to the floor; the sound of it clattering to the floor is so loud that he's sure of all the things the neighbors hear the most-it's the dropping of his gun, the dropping of his guard.

"Don't!" Reisi spits out, the blade of his sword pressing insistently against Mikoto's throat. "Don't you _fucking_ dare! Come on! Come _on_!" He hisses through his teeth, figure trembling as tears well up in the waterline of his eyes. "Fucking pick your gun back up!"

Mikoto stares at him calmly. "You want it? It's yours." He says, tilting his head up and exposing more of his neck, giving Reisi a free shot at his neck.

Mikoto hears Reisi's breath shake and he stares up at his husband and ironically thinks that this is the first time that Reisi's never even bothered to hold in his emotions, hasn't even thought to hide behind his default politician's smile. Mikoto has spent years learning Reisi's expressions, attempting to decipher the hidden meaning in each one. But, right here, in this moment, his privy to each and every emotion that flashes through Reisi's eyes. He sees the flash of anger, the wave of sadness, sees the dilation of his pupils as he licks his lips and Mikoto shivers.

Mikoto's hand comes up to circle Reisi's wrist and twists the sword to the floor. He barely hears the clatter of its landing when Reisi's hands thread through his hair and yank him hard against him, kissing him so fiercely that Mikoto can't help the guttural sound it draws from his throat. Reisi presses closer still, nipping at his lips and whimpers brokenly against his mouth when Mikoto brushes his thumbs past his hips and cups his ass through his pants, hold tight and bruising.

Mikoto doesn't stop his wandering hands from trailing lower, gripping at Reisi's thighs and hitching them up suddenly, hoisting him up. Reisi gasps as his back slams against the wall, his thighs squeezing Mikoto's waist not too gently. "Such a barbarian," he breathes against Mikoto's lips; Mikoto just chuckles in response.

Theirs kisses are just as brutal as their fights, tongue and teeth, chaos and destruction. Clothes are ripped off, buttons flying, belt buckles clacking against the hardwood, pants torn and kicked away. They're constantly switching between offense and defense, one moment it's Mikoto pressed up against the hall mirror, the next has Reisi sprawled out over the kitchen counter.

..

They're both still holding to each other when they come to, Mikoto's head buried in Reisi's neck as Reisi presses his cheek against his hair. They breathed together, bodies calming down together even as Reisi only loosens his legs around Mikoto's waist and Mikoto lets his grip on Reis's hips go, only to soothe up and down his back, pressing him closer as he shivers from the cold.

"I was given forty-eight hours to kill you," they whisper at the same time. Mikoto pulls back and cups his hands around Reisi's cheeks, bringing their faces close together that their noses touch. Reisi sighs tiredly and pushes the damp strands of Mikoto's hair from his face, leaning down to press his cheek against Mikoto's. Their hold on each other tightens when they hear the clock chime in another hour, the more time that passes, the more danger they'll be in and they know it.

Mikoto can't help but chuckle though, it's not just him who's going to be giving their companies hell by the playful smirk on Reisi's face. He's still smiling when Reisi leans down to kiss him, feels the metal of his wedding ring press against his cheek. They did vow 'til death do them part, after all.

..

" _these violent delights have violent ends,_  
 _and in their triumph die, like fire and powder_  
 _which, as they kiss, consume_ "

Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI, Lines 9-11


End file.
